From Far and Wide
by Eerps
Summary: Canada's invisible, forgettable, often mistaken for his brother... and these times the other countries thought of him, he wasn't even in the room!
1. USA

_In the 1930s, the United States Army War College developed hypothetical war plans for a possible war with Canada; they featured an invasion in War Plan Red; it was merely an academic exercise. Similarly, Canada developed Defence Scheme No. 1 to counteract an American invasion._

- from Wikipedia

---

If he was being honest with himself, Alfred could admit that he didn't _really_ think Matthew would attack him. They'd kind of sort of had a taste of that in 1812, and it wasn't like it had been fun. Or productive. Or really anything other than horrifying and full of smoke and ash and, in its own warped way, just as bad as fighting Arthur. Maybe even worse, because he'd _expected_ Arthur to be tough. But Matty was kind of a doormat. He didn't really… _intimidate_ people or anything.

It was just that, well, Canada was part of the commonwealth, and right smack dab up there. It was him and then Mexico down south, and he already had a contingency plan for Mexico. Not that he was really so worried about _that_, either, but he was the country bordered by the both of them, now wasn't he? He was in the middle of the sandwich if they snapped and decided to try and conquer him. A hero was always well-prepared.

Fortunately, even though his military had their own plans for what to do in such an event, Alfred knew one fool-proof way to _really_ stop his brother if he ever got any funny ideas. So he fetched himself a big wooden board, and some black and white paint, and went to work. When he was finished his hands and sleeves were covered in paint splotches, but he just nodded in approval and then dragged his prize up along the road, and kept going until he was within spitting distance of the border. Then he got out a hammer, and a post, and some nails.

A few minutes later, he stood back and put his hands on his hips. There. No way was a Canadian army getting past _that_.

The plank of wood – painted white – read in big, block letters:

PLEASE DO NOT INVADE.

THANK YOU.

Later, they would say that it didn't happen because there wasn't any reason _for_ it to happen, and that World War II had strengthened the ties between nations, and all of that.

But Alfred liked to think that the sign had really sealed the deal.


	2. France

_In July 1967, while on an official state visit to Canada, President de Gaulle ignited a storm of controversy when he exclaimed, before a crowd of 100,000 in Montreal, "Vive le Québec Libre!" (Long live free Quebec!)._

_- _from Wikipedia

---

It was his own fault.

If he hadn't gone and interfered in that damn Suez Canal business, Francis never would have had to propose to Arthur. _Arthur_, of all people! _Rosbif_, English swine, stupid bastard (and best friend, but if you say anything about that he will _deny it_, it's _not true _and you are a filthy, filthy liar) and – and – well, just look at the man's eyebrows! He couldn't cook, couldn't even _taste_, was a closet pervert (he only had a problem with the closet part, really) and he'd _said no_. He'd said no to marrying Francis! Artful lover and masculine sculpture of physical perfection! How insulting was it to propose to someone as obviously beneath him as Arthur and then get turned down?!

And now Francis was going to die. Possibly. Well, that was what his boss said, anyway, and he was tired enough and worn down enough by the whole ordeal to believe it. The rest of Europe would tear apart his remains, dividing it into little pieces amongst themselves the way birds would strip the flesh off of carrion. Hadn't he seen it before? And all because stupid, stupid _Canada_ had had a problem with them invading Egypt. Oh, Arthur was blaming America, of course, but Francis knew. It was Canada who had sent troops with UNEF, not America, and Canada who had come up with the idea of the UN interfering in the first place. _Canada_ was the reason his last act on earth was going to be _proposing to Arthur!_ _Matthew_ was at fault in all of this!

So no, Francis wasn't the least bit sorry about what had happened in Quebec, because Matthew might be a little bit uncomfortable now, but Francis was still _dying_. If he was going to die, then at least he might have the pleasure of seeing French-Canada separate from the parts that Arthur had ruined with his… British-ness.

He wasn't sorry. Matthew had it coming. Let him suffer through having two parts of himself clash, let him deal with having Quebec try and tear itself away from him. The birth of a new nation was always a painful thing. He could ask _Arthur_, god knew that man had more than enough experience with it.

From the next room he heard the sounds of low cursing in French, followed by a string of English swear words and then the sound of something breaking. He flinched back reflexively, listening to the sounds of a door opening and closing, and footsteps. Another crash. More bilingual swearing. Then Alfred's voice, speaking as Matthew's brother and not his neighboring country.

"Damn it, Matty, sit _down_," he heard him say, and in his mind's eye he could almost see the identical nations – one with his eyes glazed over in pain, and the other trying to wrestle him into a chair.

A few minutes later there was quiet again.

The _thud, thud, thud_ of footsteps followed, and a door swung out as Alfred walked into the room. He paused when he saw Francis sitting there, stiffening a little.

Francis frowned.

He shook his head at the look Alfred was giving him, and decided to take a walk. He felt good enough to. A little better than he had that morning.

And he still wasn't sorry.


	3. UK

_Loyalty to Britain still existed, however, and during the darkest days of the Second World War, after the fall of France and before the entry of the Soviet Union or the US, Canada was Britain's principal ally in the North Atlantic, and a major source of weapons and food._

_-_ from Wikipedia

---

When he talks about war, these are the parts which Arthur likes to leave out. Not because he thinks they shouldn't be known, to be honest, but because afterwards he doesn't feel at all inclined to remember them. The actual fighting, with the death and the cries, the smoke of guns and blood and mud – that is awful. But it is the awfulness born of action.

The times in between the fights, however, don't even have that saving grace. They are cold and grey, all of the dirt and muck and none of the adrenaline. He feels the solid pang of hunger in his gut, amplified by the hunger which comes from all of the lives within his borders. The taste of sickness lingers constantly in the back of his mouth, and he feels more human than he should. Closer to death and dying than he would like.

It is easy to think that he is alone. He _is_ alone.

A hand falls onto his shoulder.

"You should eat something, Kirkland," one of the men says, and Arthur blinks himself away from his thoughts, feeling the odd sharpness and numbness which comes from running too long on too little fuel. Rations are pressed upon him, and he blinks at them in surprise, shaking his head a little.

"When did we get this?" he asks, having no desire to make any sort of dent in their near-empty stores. He doesn't _need_ to eat, not like his soldiers.

"An airlift," the man replies, looking a little brighter than Arthur can recall seeing any of his men look for quite a while now. "We've got food and some replacement weapons now."

_Oh. Of course_, Arthur thinks, and berates himself for letting his energy drift so far that he wouldn't even keep track of such things. Now was _not_ the time to lose focus. No – he needed it more than ever. With an almost grim determination he permitted himself the small amount of sustenance, frowning thoughtfully when it was done.

Not quite alone, then, he supposed, feeling a flash of annoyance with himself. It was so easy to remember who _wasn't_ helping him – and utterly inappropriate to forget who _was_.

Shaking his head, he stood up and squared his shoulders. He'd get some sleep, clear his mind, and then be done with this business of moping around by the morning. And the next time he saw him, Arthur would be sure not to think about how disappointed he was that Matthew wasn't someone else.

Because, in all likelihood, if he were 'someone else', then he wouldn't be here.


	4. New Zealand

_New Zealand and Canada have a longstanding relationship that has been fostered by both countries' shared history and culture, by their membership in the Commonwealth of Nations and links between residents of both countries._

- from Wikipedia

---

Kiwi9000: Oh good, you're online. What time is it over there, anyway?

Mapleman: Midnight. What's up?

Kiwi9000: Aus cheated a cricket!! Then the stroppy bastard has the nerve to get in my face when I call him out on it, but underarm bowling is cheating!!

Mapleman: Your brother cheated 'a' cricket? Out of what?

Kiwi9000: :P

Kiwi9000: You know that was a typo.

Mapleman: I'll take your word for it.

Kiwi9000: The point is that Aus is a CHEATING CHEATER WHO CHEATS!

Mapelman: Eh. At least he cheats at the sports you actually like to play?

Kiwi9000: I don't know what Aus is playing but it isn't cricket. It's more like 'let's see how many times I can get away with 'accidentally' hitting New Zealand with my bat'.

Mapleman: O_o Is that kind of like 'break Canada's bones with the baseball?'

Kiwi9000: …Srsly, Aus and US have anger management issues.

Mapleman: Lol. Not enough hugs when they were small.

Kiwi9000: Hey, now, we're in that same boat! What's our excuse for not being insane?

Mapleman: Crazy siblings to put it into perspective?

Kiwi9000: That must be it.

His fingers paused over the keyboard, then, as he heard a familiar pounding at his door.

"C'mon, mate, let me in! You can't keep sulking just because you _lost_," he heard his brother call through the wood, and with something of an annoyed growl clenched his hands for a moment.

Kiwi9000: Gtg, Aus needs his nose broken.

Mapleman: You're a peace-keeping nation! Peace-keeping!

Kiwi9000: That's why it's not his arm.

On that note he closed the chat window, pushed himself away from the desk, and opened up his door just as Australia was about to knock on it again. One sun-tanned hand paused mid-air for a moment before lowering rather slowly. His brother grinned at him.

"_Finally_," he said, glancing into the room for a moment at the still-glowing computer screen. "What were you doing, downloading porn?"

New Zealand grinned. "Nah," he replied. "I was just talking to the only other sane man in the universe. So. How about a rematch?"

Australia's expression brightened considerably.

"Cricket?" he asked.

New Zealand's grin turned a little feral. "I was thinking more along the lines of rugby," he said instead, and for a moment Australia's facial expression seemed to freeze in place, before New Zealand slung an arm over his shoulders and started dragging him back outside.

"…You're going to break my nose again, aren't you?"


	5. Australia

_By 1980, there were official exchange programs between Canadian and Australian departments responsible for statistics, aboriginal people, labour, justice and defence. Australia's only complaint - a traditional one - was that far too few Canadian politicians visited Australia._

- from Wikipedia

---

Australia didn't think he'd ever seen someone turn that _red_ before. Or run that fast. He scratched his head underneath his hat, slouching back a little in the hospital waiting room. It was a little weird. Weren't there _bears_ in Canada? And sunshine? How did his northern relative _survive_ if he couldn't handle a little wildlife and a warm day?

Okay, so, maybe leaving him alone hadn't been the best idea. He didn't get as many visitors as he'd like – it was easy to forget that not everyone was like him and New Zealand.

You know. _Competent_.

Australia sighed and shook his head. No, no, no, he wasn't going to keep doing that anymore. They were all friends now. Again. _For now_. He'd told himself he wasn't going to fight with Canada, or call him 'America', (or tack on 'Lackey' or 'Stooge' to it afterwards) or _accidentally_ knock him into any rivers which may or may not be populated with crocodiles. They were supposed to be turning over a new leaf, here. No more arguing and screwing one another over in trades and kicking each other underneath tables when no one was looking.

He should have probably included 'abandoning each other in the bush' on that list, but he honestly hadn't thought about it. Although now that he was here he guessed that he maybe should have. But Canada was so enthusiastic about nature! He thought he'd _like_ having the chance to explore a little on his own.

They had wolves in Canada. Dingoes weren't that different.

It was _common sense_. 'Don't feed the dingoes!'. And it wasn't _his_ fault that Canada apparently couldn't tell them apart from dogs, or that his skin burnt like paper, or that he'd lost his hat…

With a sigh he shifted slightly in his chair, and shook his head.

No, that wasn't right. He was being a bad host on purpose and he knew it. It was just that _he'd_ been to Canada a bunch of times now (and he'd thought he'd learned to pack warm clothes, but every time he got there the climate proved him wrong again) but Canada hadn't been down here in… well, a very long time. He couldn't even remember his last visit. So he was doing what they always tended to do with one another, and getting back at him for it.

At this rate it probably wasn't any wonder that they always ended up bickering and then ignoring each other time and again.

Well, not any more! That was right. It was surprising, sometimes, how _well_ they got along when they actually remembered to get along, and he wasn't going to let his temper get the better of him. No. No, when Canada got rehydrated and had all of his scrapes bandaged up, Australia'd make it up to him. He'd… take him for ice-cream. Or something.

It would be good.

Then maybe Canada would actually come _back_ and visit again after he left this time.


	6. Netherlands

_Following German Occupation of the Netherlands, the Dutch royal family took refuge in Canada. Princess Margriet was born in exile while her family lived in Ottawa. The maternity ward of Ottawa Civic Hospital in which Princess Margriet was born was temporarily declared to be extraterritorial by the Canadian government, thereby allowing her citizenship to be solely influenced by her mother's Dutch citizenship._

- from Wikipedia

---

Somewhere safe. Somewhere safe. His heart thudded in his chest and his muscles strained, worn, beaten and bloodied as he tried to think of where to send them. Britain wasn't far enough. They needed to go somewhere he could be sure they wouldn't be killed, even if the war was lost. Somewhere where their protection wouldn't be bartered away if it came to it, somewhere distant – but go too far, he thought, and no one would take them.

His royalty.

Germany was trying to destroy him. He couldn't let that happen. His muscles strained, ached from the dark press of warfare, and his lungs felt like fire in his chest. He was an old nation. It wasn't anything he hadn't felt before, although this seemed somehow… bigger. As if the shadows stretched for further than they ever had. Death seemed too close.

It frightened him, though he would never say as much out loud. The wolves were at his door.

He couldn't keep them out, but he _could_ send the family away. His throat tightened as his mind fell to the only option he had. He remembered a skinny boy with a snowy white bear and a lot of land. Canada. He was loyal to England and helping in the war. He would take them.

And the Netherlands might never see them again, because when this war was done he might be nothing more than the fire he felt in his lungs. Though he would try.

He had survived so many things. To die now would be unforgiveable.

A frown pulled at the edges of his mouth, tugging his expression and making it even darker than it had been before. He thought of the child which hadn't been born yet. The little prince or princess. It would be better to let them go, but at the same time he couldn't help but feel that sharp pang of denial. Part of him railed against sending them away. They were _his_ royal family, they should stay _here_, not be handed over into the care of a country that was younger than his stubble. What if the child was born overseas? How could he hand one of his leaders to another nation, to come into the world there, to belong in part to another place?

He grit his teeth and his fists clenched, the dry skin tightening over his knuckles and cracking at his wrists. At least the boy – young man now, he supposed – seemed kind, and had Dutch immigrants within his borders.

It could be worse.

He could lose them _all_.

His heart felt like a dead weight within his chest as he made his decision, and let his anger simmer futilely below the surface, along with the despair. He had a long memory. Germany would regret this, even if he had to come back and _haunt_ him over it.

He was not one to forget things easily.


	7. Poland

_In February 1998, Canada was the first NATO country to ratify Polish accession to the North Atlantic Alliance. Canada has become a leader among NATO countries in language and peacekeeping training in Poland, with hundreds of Polish officers and senior general staff having received training in Canada and Poland._

- from Wikipedia

---

Sometimes Feliks wondered – if Canada was such a pushover, then how come he was, like, always there _before_ America? Shouldn't he be waiting to see what his brother did before he decided anything?

Actions _totally_ spoke louder than words.

Plus his house was really nice. It was kinda freaky big, but he had these awesome bottles of syrup shaped like maple leaves and this bear that was, like, super cute. He'd never seen a talking bear before. It even knew his name and everything! Not to mention the hockey sticks on his walls. Feliks was sure it said something about a man when he kept a large collection of gigantic wooden sticks that he used for beating people. (Okay, so, like, he _said_ they were supposed to hit the puck, but Feliks had totally seen people play hockey and he had _eyes_ – that was _so_ not what they were doing).

And there was a moose in his backyard.

Blinking, Feliks slid open the window to the guest bathroom, toothbrush poking out of his mouth and hair still sticking out in a few directions from where he'd slept on it. Wow! That thing was, like, _huge_! Canada should totally learn how to tame them. If his soldiers rode something with antlers like _that_ around they'd be, like, terrifying. He leaned a little further out of his window.

The moose snorted.

"Oh I am _so_ doing this," Feliks concluded with a grin. Then he quickly finished up with his teeth, ran a comb through his hair, and hopped out of the window.

Half an hour later he got a good opportunity to admire Canada's health care services, too.


	8. Ukraine

_The main Canadian political parties are keen to be seen promoting democratic reform initiatives in Ukraine, encouraging Ukraine to engage and possibly join Western institutions such as the EU, NATO while distancing itself from Russia._

- from Wikipedia

---

Katyusha can still, if she closes her eyes, feel that uncomfortable sinking sensation in the middle of her chest which comes with falling into a recession. Whenever he speaks, she sees the strain in the corners of America's eyes, the faintest hint of nausea brought about by economic strife. It makes her sad. But, then again, there are worse things to endure – and right now the harder part of her heart simply does not care.

It's not that she doesn't like him, really. It's just that it's difficult to feel badly for America when he suffers – he presents himself with so much bravado that most other nations _want_ to see him taken down a peg. It seems appropriate. 'Yes', it says, 'the whole world suffers, and you are not mighty enough to avoid it either, are you? You think you are a hero, but really you are just another one of us'. But then she feels badly, because he _is_ just another one of them, and in that light she doesn't really want him to suffer. He's like a child king. Too much power and not enough wisdom. Words fly out of his mouth, and sometimes she wonders if he really understands the meaning behind them, or if he has simply caught them up the way another person might gather colorful flowers.

She thinks he might understand it better _these_ days than he ever has before, and maybe that's what tips the scales for her from indifference to sorrow. Things have been somewhat tense between their nations recently – she knows he's still angry about the defense system she sold to Iraq. Well, when he remembers to be. Lately he's been more scatterbrained than she would have expected, sometimes focusing in on things, and others retreating a little with a slightly glazed look on his face, talking about American celebrities and television shows before he snaps himself out of it.

_He really does mean what he says,_ she recalls a familiar voice telling her. _The problem is that he can't admit it when he does something that isn't 'heroic'. So when that happens he gets distracted, and tries to forget about it_.

_But he really does mean it. I know he does, because I do, too._

She thinks that Canada may be more devious than people give him credit for. He has a way of explaining his ideas that make them seem less like an imposition or an expectation, and more like honesty. Can honesty be devious? When it isn't used in that way of omission which Ivan favors, anyway?

Thinking a little, she waits until after the meeting is finished. When America goes to pass her, she stops him, her hand catching his arm for a moment. He blinks behind his glasses and looks at her in surprise, and then questioningly.

"You should go home," she tells him.

Immediately, his expression turns from one of inquiry to suspicion. Katyusha hastens to explain herself. "We've all been through economic hardships ourselves too. No one will think any less of you. Go home and get some rest. It helps."

He looks at her for a moment, and then shrugs his arm out of her grasp. A wide, forced smile splits his face.

"Don't be silly. It'll take more than _this_ to tire me out!" he insists, and for one eerie moment he almost reminds her of Ivan, with that near-desperate smile full of denial and suspicion and lies to himself. At that point it's very nearly a reflex when she reaches up pats him on his head, and she can see the gears freeze up inside of his head.

"Запеклі," she sighs. "Have you seen your brother? I should talk to him about trade." She's learned that the best way to find Canada is usually to ask the one person who never mistakes him for America.

With a nod he directs her towards the back of the room, and she rolls her eyes as she sees Ivan sitting on him. Again. He takes his humor from the oddest places.

"Thank you," she says, and even though it seems that was an utterly useless conversation, she feels oddly a little bit better for having made it.


End file.
